Little Boys of Three

{this little boy is not yet three, but almost....}

Look tenderly on little boys of three,

Their softness is as fleeting as a flower.

The cheeks like petals such a little hour,

The deepest dimple theirs so transiently;

Even tomorrow softness may be hard.

The little cotton cushions on the knees

turned into bony knobs for climbing trees.

The fists so like a rose grow lean and scarred.

His full moon cheeks will narrow to a line,

the silken hair becomes a brush of bristle,

As Mother's little flower turns to thistle,

And there will linger not one little sign

To prove the cuddly cupid that was he.

Look tenderly on little boys of three.

Monty Blandford